


Spades to Start

by anr



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-07
Updated: 2009-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spades to Start

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: "Poker Face" (Lady GaGa)
> 
> Request: An undercover case, winter, and a phone call.

  


* * *

  


_Russian roulette is not the same without a gun_

  


* * *

  


He kisses her for the first time outside Grand Central, a sea of commuters flowing past, easing them further into the shadows. They are near the entrance and almost off their mark, one of his hands on her neck, fingers just tangling in her hair, and his wedding ring warm and heavy against her skin. Her gun is disguised by the fall of his coat.

When he pulls back, she looks over his shoulder and raises her arm, sights steady. "Police!" she shouts. "Freeze!"

(They catch the guy. They always do.)

  


* * *

  


Cragen congratulates them with eyes averted, his hands fisted on the top of the file. It's bittersweet praise, a hidden reprimand of, _you promised me_ , underlining his words.

She takes it without blinking, her fingers laced loosely behind her back, and thinks, _no, no we didn't, not to you_. Out loud, she says, "no problem."

El says, "no problem."

(They walk back to their desks, side by side, arms not quite brushing, not quite close enough.)

  


* * *

  


Six perp's, twelve victims, eighteen leads, twenty-four days.

She sleeps in the crib, lights from the patrol cars outside painting the walls in flashes of blue and red, her dreams reduced to charcoal.

(He wakes her with a hand on her shoulder, his right, her left, and she has to blink twice before his skin tans again.)

  


* * *

  


On a Wednesday they become Mr and Mrs Weston of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, ten years married with a three bedroom house in the suburbs, no children. Cragen hands them the jacket with a steady look, a look that says, _promise me_ , and she turns away to read the fine print.

(In the van on the way to the airport, El strips off his gloves, then hers, sliding a ring onto her finger. It fits.)

  


* * *

  


He calls his wife from a terminal payphone while she buys them overpriced Starbucks and magazines. The call is brief and ends with a promise to call again when the plane lands.

(He doesn't say, _I love you_. She notices.)

  


* * *

  


It's snowing when they land in Rochester, the runways dark ribbons laced with grey. Even with the temperature controlled air-conditioning in the terminal, she shivers.

She calls in while El collects their bags, first to the one-six and then to their local contact. Their jurisdiction is tenuous here, a three-powers-that-be deal that will hold only so long as their cover, and she plays it safe.

(Her thumb rubs the underside of her wedding ring while she talks.)

  


* * *

  


The motel room is clean and sparse, unremarkable. She unpacks her toiletries and makes them coffee while they wait.

When his cell rings, El answers it with, "this is Mark," and she hands him the mug when he says, "Lisa and I'll be there," and she thinks, _this is who you are tonight, who I am_. He turns the phone off when he's done.

(She reassembles their guns while he showers, steam and gun oil heavy in the air, familiar.)

  


* * *

  


They sleep with his foot touching hers and his breath warm on the back of her neck, her fingernails digging into her palms.

They are Mark and Lisa, married ten years and change, but Rochester is still New York and their boundaries have never been about location, or identity, or even opportunity. They sleep.

(She doesn't dream.)

  


* * *

  


They go to the _Strong National Museum of Play_ in the morning and say things like, "soon, sweetie," and, "not long now," and her hand is in his as they walk down Sesame Street.

He's humming, _sweeping the clouds away_ , when they leave, and she smiles and says nothing; she's pretty sure it's unconscious.

(It's snowing again.)

  


* * *

  


They meet him in _Seneca Park Zoo_ , near the concession stands, and the little girl in his arms makes her want to pull out her gun and empty the magazine but Mary is only three, and scared, and they're surrounded by civilians. She waits patiently for El to hand over the envelope and hold out his arms.

"My name's Daddy," he says softly, in character, taking her and turning his back, cradling her, "and you're safe now," out of character.

Her gun is in her hands and the guy on his knees, cuffed and miranderized, before the waiting uniforms can swarm.

(She has to remind herself to flick the safety back on.)

  


* * *

  


They fly back to JFK with Mary dozing in her arms, and hand her over to her parents at the terminal, the feds ushering the family away before the ever-present media can catch the scent of a story.

While they wait for their bags, El fingers his cell phone. "Don't try and save my marriage from ending this time."

She grabs his bag first, then hers. "Don't hurt me when it does."

(Their promises are not usually this transparent.)

  


* * *

  


He follows her home, or maybe she invites him over, and their second kiss is against her kitchen bench, his hands framing her waist and her fingers stroking across his nape. He shudders under the slow glide of her fingertips; she smiles.

"This," he starts.

She kisses his jaw. "Yes."

He walks her backwards into her bedroom, never not touching her, and it's not enough, not at first, but then she's stretching over him, pulling him into her, and the push of his body and hers is dizzying and real.

( _They_ fit.)

  


* * *

  


She wakes to his mouth, his tongue skimming the curve of her belly until she's dreaming in colour, white light in her eyes and her pulse, his pulse, louder than any vows.

(They're going to be late to work. She doesn't care.)

  


* * *

  


When they get to the precinct, Cragen's there, waiting for them, and she meets his gaze evenly until he nods and says, "good job, you two," without any subtext.

El says, "no problem."

She says, "no problem."

(It never is.)

  


* * *

  


She keeps the ring.

(Just in case.)

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/340427.html>


End file.
